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by noctuabunda



Category: Justified
Genre: Gen, M/M, Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctuabunda/pseuds/noctuabunda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Would you tell me about your God again?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the ending of Season 1.

Slowly and deliberately, Raylan closed the door behind himself, shutting the whole disaster of a day out. After the shootout, the cavalry had arrived right when Ava came back out of the woods. From then on, everything had been a flurry of police protocol and ambulance sirens, of Ava crying and Art shouting. They actually thought that Art was gonna have a heart attack right there on the spot, and paramedics had had to attend to him, too.

There would be a hell of a lot of paperwork. But that wouldn't start until the next morning.

Raylan hadn't even sat down yet when his cell phone started ringing.

"Givens."

"Hello, Raylan." Of course.

"Where are you?"

"Would you tell me about your God again?"

"Boyd, where are you?"

"No, don't do that. Don't change the subject now. Please, tell me." Boyd's usual veneer of calm seemed to have vanished completely, and all that was left was desperation. Maybe he should humor him.

Raylan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright. So ... My God's a nice guy, basically. Not really interested in smiting anyone." He poured himself a drink. Looked like he was gonna need it. "Maybe just not that interested in general."

"So he leaves us to fend for ourselves." Boyd sounded even more devastated now, if that was even possible.

"Yeah, but he likes us. I think he genuinely likes us." He took a sip from his glass and closed his eyes. "Maybe he can't really interfere, what with free will and all that."

He heard a shaky sigh at the other end of the line, then: "I don't know what to do, Raylan."

"About what?"

"She's crying."

"What?" A heavy weight settled in his stomach. Was Boyd actually torturing the woman that had gotten away? Had he gone completely mad?

"I followed her, and now she finally got out of her car, and I got the gun aimed right at her head, but she's just sitting there on the wayside crying. I don't know what to do with that. And I don't even know for sure if she's the one who shot my daddy."

Relief washed over Raylan and he sat down on his bed. "Well then how about you don't shoot her?"

"But", Boyd's voice faltered. "Someone's gotta pay, right? Someone has to pay."

"Maybe they already did."

The silence on the end of the line grew heavy. Raylan started to get nervous, afraid he'd hear a shot ring out any moment now. But there was nothing. Suddenly a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob permeated the silence.

"What do I do now?"

"Come back home, maybe."

Boyd huffed out a hollow laugh. "And where would that be, Raylan? The camp, where all my men lay dead? The church? I'm sure Devil and the others would be thrilled. Or maybe my daddy's house?"

Raylan sighed. "I know how it is. When I came back here, I didn't have a place to go either. Hell, I still don't have a place of my own, you know that. But I came anyway. This is our home, Boyd, even if there ain't no place for us here. And there ain't nothing we can do about it. It's in our bones." He paused and then, "Also, I can recommend the motel."

He could hear another laugh, faint but real this time. "That so?"

"Yup. It has cable."

"Well then." And all of a sudden, the slow, self-confident drawl was back, fixed firmly in place. "I'm on my way."

The line went dead, and left Raylan sitting alone in the warm night, his glass full of bourbon and his nerves tingling with anticipation.


End file.
